


Showers and Sex

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bathing/Washing, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Kinktober 2019, Massage, Nudity, Post-Canon, Post-Canon - Aged Up Characters, Shower Sex, Studying, Very Vaguely Mentioned Nudity, Wholesome Safe For Work Content In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah, bathing together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 14:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: Shirabu glares down at a chart detailing the pros and cons of each type of sexual protection. "This is not how shower sex works.""Please?" Yahaba settles down on his knees beside the tub. "You know I have a hard time focusing."Shirabu sighs, adding more hot water to the bath, and Yahaba cheers. "You owe me for this.""I'll wash your hair." Taking off his shirt, Yahaba turns to grab the shampoo. "You know, I never pegged you as the bubble bath type."A soap bottle slams into Yahaba's head.





	Showers and Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 25 - Prompt: Shower Sex

Water rolls down Yahaba’s skin. Steam clouds the air. Suds cling to his hands, and he slides his fingers through Shirabu’s hair. “Keep going.”

Shirabu flicks water at him. “Give me a minute.”

Yahaba wipes his face off on his arm. His hair clings to his forehead from the dampness. He always knew Shirabu liked to steal all of the hot water, but actually getting to feel the temperature makes him wonder how Shirabu has any skin left.

“There’s a ligament,” Shirabu says.

“Not that.”

“It lifts—”

“Stop,” Yahaba whines. He drops his head against Shirabu’s shoulder. It’s a terrible mistake; he’s soaking wet. But he’s also warm, and Yahaba waits until Shirabu’s laughter subsides before sitting up again. “My professor spent five minutes on that ligament. Five. I’m scarred for life.”

Yahaba can’t see Shirabu’s face, but he knows he rolled his eyes. “Overdramatic.” He turns the page. “Oh, that’s gross.”

“I don’t want to know,” Yahaba says. Shirabu sits curled up neatly at one side of the bathtub, his head perfectly placed to block the textbook from view. Droplets of water roll down his back. Yahaba watches them dip lower and lower until they slide out of sight beneath the tub’s rim. It’s far more appealing than anything Shirabu could be reading about.

“Sexually transmitted diseases,” Shirabu says, “now with pictures.”

“Skip it. It’s not on the test.”

“Thank goodness.” Shirabu skips ahead. “Folliculogenesis.”

“You went too far.”

“I’m not going over body parts. You should know those already.” Clearing his throat, Shirabu reads, “A layer of glycoprotein gel around whatever the hell an oocyte is?”

“Zona pellucida.” Finished washing Shirabu’s hair, Yahaba spikes it up into a mohawk.

Shirabu flips back three pages. The goal is to cover a wide range of topics in a way Yahaba can’t predict, but the lack of order grates on his nerves. “Why did you write ‘jazz hands?’”

“It’s the fourth stage of meiosis.” Yahaba counts on his fingers. “Anaphase, right?”

“Right. And what is”—he flips ahead—“an acrosome?”

The mohawk stands for a moment and then flops to the side. Smoothing back Shirabu’s hair, Yahaba tries to imagine what he will look like if he ever goes bald. “What was the question?”

Shirabu splashes him. “Acrosome.”

“An enzyme cap used for, uh, for, you know...” Yahaba trails off. Shirabu’s shoulders twitch, and Yahaba knows he’s holding back a laugh. “Shut up.”

“A homologous structure that is the primary focus of sexual stimulation is called the—”

“Rinsing!”

Shirabu snorts, but he complies, setting the book aside. “I don’t get how you’re going to take a test on sex when you can’t even talk about it.” The water in the tub sloshes as he sits up straight. His bath bomb turned it a deep shade of purple, likes he’s floating in the middle of a witch’s potion.

Shirabu tilts his head back. Grabbing a cup of non-colored water, Yahaba pours it slowly, making sure not to let the shampoo drip into his face. He trails his other hand through Shirabu’s hair. It waves and curls around his fingers, and he combs through it, letting his hand slide down the back of his neck. The cup runs out, and all too quickly, the shampoo is gone.

Shirabu reaches for the textbook. “Are we done now?”

As he stretches, his ribs become more pronounced. Yahaba’s gaze trails over the curve of his shoulder blade, moving down the line of his back. Water collects around his collar bones. All the movement has stirred up the bubble bath, and suds collect on his arms, his knees.

“Yahaba.”

“What?”

He hands him the book. “We’re done. You’re not focusing.”

“That’s why I need your help.” He pushes it back into his hands, and Shirabu reluctantly curls up in his corner again, propping the book against the edge of the tub.

“I have learned more about girls than I need to know,” he laments. His position isn’t quite the same as before, and Yahaba makes out a picture of the reproductive organs.

Gathering soap in his hands, Yahaba rubs his shoulders. “I was hoping it would be less awkward if we studied the body parts we don’t have.”

“Mission failed.” Shirabu leans into his touch, and Yahaba struggles to contain his smile.

He seems smaller without a shirt. His shoulders are narrow, but his muscles are firm beneath Yahaba’s touch. He works in small circles. When he reaches sore spots, Shirabu stiffens. Skipping over those, he searches out the tense areas, working out the strain until Shirabu sighs, relaxing against the wall of the tub. The book falls open on the floor.

“I’ve asked you five questions,” he says.

Yahaba doesn’t remember being asked anything. “I answered them,” he lies.

Rolling his eyes, Shirabu turns his attention back to the book. He reads softly, no longer quizzing him, but quoting the chapter line by line. Buzzwords like “estrogen” and “stimulation” float through Yahaba’s ears. He tries hard to focus on them. He remembers the professor going over this section. It was the morning when it was raining. He was telling the class what would be on the exam, and Yahaba was staring out the window, counting raindrops and only half listening.

“This begins the third stage: placental,” Shirabu reads, and Yahaba realizes he has missed the two stages that came before it.

He tries harder to focus. Shirabu rattles off a list of scientific terms. Non-muscular organs. Myometrium. Amnion. Membranes. He knows membranes are important for holding things in place together. Like ligaments and bones. His gaze travels down Shirabu’s back, and he pretends he can see vertebrae, the spinal cord, the—

“You’re not listening,” Shirabu cuts through his thoughts.

“I am.”

Shirabu’s head rests against his arms, and he angles it to shoot Yahaba a dubious glance. “You’re staring into space.”

“I’m staring at your back,” Yahaba corrects. Realization catches up to him afterwards, and he quickly says, “Nevermind, you caught me. I was staring into space.”

Shirabu’s eyes narrow, and he glances over his shoulder. “What’s wrong with my back?”

“Nothing.”

Shirabu stares at him, waiting. Yahaba can’t admit that he was daydreaming about a lecture completely unrelated to the test they’re studying for, though, so he tries to change the subject. “Can I massage your back?”

Shirabu blinks.

Yahaba mentally slaps himself. “You look tense is all,” he elaborates, but Shirabu is still lounged against the end of the tub, the most relaxed Yahaba has ever seen him.

Shirabu lets the blatant lie slide. “You’d have to sit behind me to do that,” he mumbles. He turns back to the book, picking up where he left off. He says something about postpartum depression, and Yahaba wilts, realizing they aren’t even in the same section anymore. With his hair washed and his shoulders massaged, Yahaba doesn’t have a way of distracting Shirabu from his lack of focus anymore, either.

Unless he was serious about letting Yahaba rub his back. Which he wasn’t. Or maybe he was, but it’s not practical. His clothes would get wet. It’s not a large tub either, like the communal baths he’d shared with his team during training camps. But his back does look tense, on closer inspection. He never was good at taking care of himself after volleyball practice.

Shirabu starts to turn, checking to see if Yahaba’s listening, and Yahaba makes a snap decision. Slipping off his clothes, he climbs into the tub behind Shirabu.

“What are you doing?”

“You offered.”

“You’re crazy.”

Shrugging, Yahaba places a hand on his back, and when Shirabu doesn’t immediately murder him, he starts massaging, starting near his shoulders.

“You’ve got to focus this time,” he says. He edges forward to give Yahaba more room, cushioning his head on his arms again. “The test is tomorrow.”

“I will,” Yahaba promises. His mind always feels clearer when his hands are occupied.

Shirabu knows this, too. With an acknowledging hum, he starts reading. “The difference between progesterone and estradiol is?”

“One stops contractions. The second stimulates them.” Yahaba presses his thumbs along Shirabu’s spine, trying to gauge what might be sore and what might just need a break from diving receives. His fingers ghost admiringly across his ribs, and he slides his hands along his sides.

“As the pregnancy reaches full term, oxytocin does what?”

Tension clings around his shoulders blades like meat to bone, and Yahaba works his knuckles against it. “Stimulates the muscles and membranes.”

With a satisfied nod, Shirabu resumes reading. The questions come slower now, just sporadic enough to keep Yahaba alert. The names of the hormones slide in one ear and out of the other, but Yahaba grips tight to the different stages Shirabu mentions, memorizing the terms, creating a mental chart of how the hormones work, even if he still can’t remember exactly which one is which.

The bath bomb left hints of purple along Shirabu’s back, and his skin unfolds into a map of constellations. Yahaba traces over the freckles forming the cosmos, rubbing circles along Orion’s belt. As he dips beneath a freckle like the north star, Shirabu’s sentence breaks off into a sigh. 

Yahaba can’t hold back his smile this time.

Shirabu glances at him over his shoulder, eyes narrowed into a deadly warning. “There are four more pages—”

Yahaba presses his knuckles into the same spot, and Shirabu’s back arches. It’s a sore area, he realizes, and the source of greatest tension. Rolling his hands so his palms press into it, he moves his thumbs in persistent circles, and he bites down on a smile when another sigh escapes Shirabu’s lips.

“This is the best idea I’ve ever had,” he says.

“I hate you.” Shirabu splashes him. “I have practice tomorrow.”

Yahaba drops his hands to his waist, and he slides his thumbs upward. Shirabu grips the edge of the tub. “You’ll play better if your back isn’t so screwed up.” He nudges him to lean forward. When Shirabu complies, he applies more pressure, reveling in the soft noises of contentment Shirabu makes.

“This is the last time I let you take a bath with me.”

“Share the purple soup.”

“Don’t call the bath water ‘soup,’” Shirabu hisses.

“Potion broth,” Yahaba says.

“That’s worse,” he snaps, but his eyes flutter closed. Biting his lip, he leans into Yahaba’s touch.

Yahaba rolls his knuckles into the spot where muscles meet ribs. “You need to do more side stretches.” Around his spine feels particularly tight, and he prods the area gently.

“You’re supposed to be studying,” Shirabu reminds him.

Reaching the small of his back, Yahaba works more slowly. The purple water hides his bruises, so he tests out the area before applying any pressure, finding only one injury when Shirabu tenses up.

“Let me help you.” As the tension dissolves, he brings his hands up and down his back, spreading his fingers out in wide circles. Shirabu melts against the edge of the tub, and Yahaba presses into the areas that he couldn’t reach before. “I want you to feel good.”

“I don’t need help,” Shirabu mumbles.

Gathering soap in his hands, Yahaba washes off his back, scrubbing deep into his shoulders. “I’m gonna make this a regular thing.”

“You will not.”

“Oh?” Yahaba pauses. “Do you want me to stop?”

Shirabu mumbles against his arm.

“What was that?”

“... No.”

Yahaba smirks. “I thought so.”

“Damn you,” Shirabu sighs. “You’re making dinner for this.” Propping himself up, he says, “It’ll be your fault when I mess up at practice tomorrow.”

Yahaba slides his thumbs up either side of his spine, and Shirabu arches his back with the movement. Leaning deeper into Yahaba’s touch, he adds, “And I’m done helping you study tonight. I need a nap.”

“Tired?” He works his way up Shirabu’s neck, smiling as Shirabu's body sways with the movement, his head tilting back in pleasure, lips parted.

Finished, Yahaba grabs the cup off the floor to start rinsing him off.

Shirabu slumps against his chest, knocking him off balance. “Extremely.” The cup clatters to the floor. Water sloshes across the tile.

“You can’t sleep here.”

Shirabu snuggles into him. “Watch me.”

“I gotta study,” Yahaba protests, but Shirabu stretches out until Yahaba leans back. He shifts his legs, and Shirabu seizes the movement as a chance to wiggle into a more comfortable position, turning Yahaba into his personal pillow.

“Let me rest.”

Sighing in defeat, Yahaba wraps his arm around his waist. He may want to drown him for this, but it would be a shame if Shirabu ended up drowning himself over a spontaneous nap. Drying off his other hand on a nearby towel, he picks up his textbook to try and get in what little bit of studying he still can.

“Don’t do it.”

“Don’t what?”

Shirabu’s eyes open just long enough to glare up at him. “Don’t say whatever stupid thing you’re thinking.”

Yahaba smirks.

“Don’t.”

“Two dudes chilling in a bathtub. Studying sex because they’re not gay.”

Shirabu elbows him. Chuckling, Yahaba flips to the first of his many bookmarked pages and reads softly, one hand pressed firmly against Shirabu’s chest to make sure he doesn’t actually fall asleep.


End file.
